Doubt And Desperation (1) Louisa stared down at the small post-it note. It was pale yellow, almost perfect with no signs of age whatsoever. It read: Tonight, before you go to bed, you must have that drawer in your bedroom unlocked. Or else. She glanced at the note over and over again. The note was not signed, and she could not tell who the writer was. She stood there, silent, perfectly silent. Her mind was kitting itself into a knot. She still stared, as if she had no intention to move another inch. Benjamin’s cry interrupted her deep state of meditation. ‘Boo-hoo-hoo!’ She glanced at her little baby, fearing that anyone would notice him. She unlocked the door and entered, pushing the baby carrier into the flat. After locking the door, she seized the bottle on her little coffee-table and offered it to her child. The child ceased crying, and the mother was relieved. Louisa’s eyes returned to the post-it note, which she had, all the time, held in her left hand involuntarily. She was surprised at how her thick grasp had damaged the fragile piece of paper. She got herself seated on her sofa, and continued staring at the note. She was not examining the note; she only looked, while she was deep in thought. As she had perceived when she first sighted the note, its handwriting seemed familiar to her. She could not tell, however, where exactly she had seen the handwriting. Louisa shook her head again, this time more gently, as her eyelids started to drop. But the final words of the note flashed before her eyes. It was not possible. Obey, they ordered her. Obey. Or else. She could not stop thinking of the words, ‘or else’. The words reminded her of the scene with Jay Washington. ‘You shall bear this child,’ Jay commanded, ‘or else.’ Her eyes were filled with horror as she recalled the scene. She looked over at Benjamin, who was too occupied with his treat to be aware of her mother’s stare. ‘Why, oh why did Jay have to leave me!’ she muttered to herself. ‘Had he not gone before Benjamin’s birth, I could have been living with a fairly easy lifestyle right now. Oh, how much I wish I could wake the dead!’ She shivered as she thought of the last words. Wake the dead! If she ever had the ability of such magic, her parents would have been back, teaching her the important lessons of life. But she could not. She could only live on the money she had inherited from her parents, and her greatest fear was always the money running short. Her parents had left her ten years ago, and for twelve years she had lived on the stockpile which her parents had gradually earned. She felt ashamed at her failure to seek an occupation, and her waste of the stockpile. Over half of what her parents had was turned into thin air, and all because of a single person: Louisa Emily Daniels. A cold wind blew into the room, and goose bumps crawled all over her body. Louisa shook her head. It was almost eight. It was her usual custom to dine at seven. With haste, she walked into the kitchen to prepare her evening meal. She stared down at the ingredients. They were not hers. They belonged to her parents. She did not deserve them. Why, oh why could she not ‘stand on her own legs’? Why? Oh, why? The meal was not expensive. The utter simplicity of the meal was necessary. She had but a bowl of white rice, and a little spinach. It was only just enough for her, but there was really no choice. All her meals were so very humble. And yet, she always reminded herself. They were not hers. They belonged to her parents. She did not deserve them… Louisa turned the knob on the stove. After fifteen minutes, she found herself sitting on her sofa, staring, once again, at her food. It was not hers. It belonged to her parents… Louisa brought herself to transfer the leave of the spinach from the bowl to her mouth. Her teeth slowly chewed the food, as if it tasted rather pleasant. But it didn’t. Every single bite felt salty. Salty, not from the soy sauce, but from her own tears. The drops of liquid were squinted from her eyes with little drama. The young woman felt guiltier than she ever could. She gave herself the little thoughts again. What she enjoyed was not hers. It belonged… She watched as the green disappeared from her sight. Snow white remained. She decided not to delay the pain. She swallowed all the rice in four gulps. The bowls were washed and put away. Everything was in order. She shuffled her way to her baby, and tucked him in bed. ‘Good night, sweetheart,’ she said in a way that made no difference with a whisper. ‘Good night.’ She took the empty milk bottle and filled it up with more milk. It was half past nine when she could finally manage to prepare for her bedtime routine. Her teeth were brushed with care, not a tooth missing; the soft music was played, in order to send the baby to sleep as quickly as possible; and she slipped into the blankets, still very anxious should the baby produce any unwanted noise. She could not imagine what consequences the knowledge of her child among others would bring her. She could only worry. Only worry… As she caught sight of a row of drawers, she suddenly started. She found herself sitting up in bed, terrified. She was thinking of the post-it note. How could she possibly sleep without thinking of the post-it note! Should I obey? she wondered. She knew that the post-it could be a threat to her. Perhaps it was simply a criminal with a desire to take what was not his, or hers. Or perhaps it was a person who knew that she had to, or there would be consequences. Perhaps the person was to put money inside. Or perhaps… She decided that since she had an order, it was best not to risk it and disobey. She crept out of bed, making sure that the walls lacked ears and windows short of eyes, and was slightly shocked by the cry of her baby. She gave the infant the bottle without sparing a moment’s doubt, and retained her course towards the drawer. She took a chain of keys from her bedside table. Her slim body wriggled itself to the drawers. And, with a small, golden key, she slipped the key into one keyhole, hesitated, and turned the key. She opened the drawer. It worked. Inside were the things she valued the most, despite the fact that she valued most things she had the luck to own. She repeated the process with five other drawers, for the cryptic note did not state which she was to open. Maybe, just maybe, the purpose of the obscurity of the note was to conceal the aim and identity of the writer of the note. Could it be so? Louisa returned to her bed as slowly as possible, her emotions relieved from the disquiet state caused by the note which, if she correctly remembered, she had left in the kitchen. And I assure you, my dear reader, that what she had left inside the kitchen was the note, not the state. She was grateful that her child had not disturbed her. She crept back into the layers of blankets. And she closed her eyes. What else have a gotten myself into, she thought; but a mess! How could I use what was not mine! Is this not theft? Oh! What a useless mess I am! I have no right to exist in this world! She was not groomed exactly immaculately. Her coarse, shoulder-length hair was spread haphazardly on the pillow. Her face expressed a soft relief, her complexion being rather unwelcoming. Her shoulders barely came in contact with the pillow, for she had a rather long neck. Her slim body resembled a fashionable Victorian woman, only less slender than to that extreme. Her hands were in their places on the sides of the bed, a cross between a totally relaxed hand and a tightly clenched fist. Her legs rested comfortably at ease, and her hands started to relax… The next thing she knew, or could recall, she was standing before a figure, cold perspiration dripping down her forehead, and her clothes wet with the sweat. ‘Louisa,’ said the figure. ‘How will I bring myself to accept your stupidity?’ The outline of the figure could now be seen. He wore a magnetic shirt, attractive gloves, sexy jeans, and sandals fit for a short stroll on the beach. He left little doubt of his name. ‘Jay,’ uttered Louisa. ‘Are you not…?’ ‘Dead of a few broken bones, huh, miss,’ Washington finished for her, ‘in some stupid accident.’ Daniels did not stir. ‘Why, I’d say you are thick as two short planks to believe it.’ He paused. ‘What the hell are you waiting for? Get me something – I think I’m gonna snuff it. Tea, coffee, water – really, anything.’ She left the room, just to find herself lying, in her own bed. She shook her head as was her usual custom, just to find the child bawling his eyes out. She quickly covered her baby’s mouth and rushed to the kitchen. She did not care when the milk was spilt. She knew she could not take any chances. She rushed straight to the little rajah and presented him to his milk. The baby quit his wails, but it did not stop his mother from worrying that anyone could discover her secret. She looked out the window. Few lights were on. The only light exposed was from that of, she believed, and old woman. Density of population was certainly a disadvantage of living in a high-rise flat. How secrets could be open! Louisa could not help but check her drawers next. She sighed. Why must life be so full of strange surprises, and I am the most inexperienced with it? She was slightly frightened, as she had been the entire night. She felt that fate had neglected her. While so many others had enjoyed fame and fortune, she could but suffer in silence. She realised that she had reached the stack of drawers. The drawers were all unlocked. It was the same as the time she had last saw it, except for one small detail. There was an extra post-it note on the bottom drawer. She had intended to check for anything that was put there, or was missing. However, the post-it note distracted her. She felt an irresistible urge to find out the content of the note. She was attracted to the note. Attracted to it… Louisa woke up from the dizziness of thoughts and reached for the note. It read: Expect a phone call anytime today. Do not leave the house. Stay at home at all costs. Louisa understood perfectly what she was to do. I’ll just obey the order once more, she thought. Then I shall see if they are worth obeying or not. She stayed at home all day long. She did not feel the need to go out. All she did that day was attend to the baby, and skim through a few old books. She did not use the television or the computer for entertainment, for she knew they cost money, and wasting money, to her, was acceleration of the already nearing death. She ate her humble meals, self criticised as she normally did, and was preparing dinner when a sound entered her ear. She had not heard the sound for such a long time, she could not remember; yet it sounded so familiar, so friendly. Beep! Beep! She rushed out into the living room and seized the phone. The prediction had been correct. She picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’ ‘It’s Dame Mary Daniels,’ said the voice from the phone. Louisa started. Her sister, Dame Daniels, had not talked to her for years. She was ten years senior to her, and was so spoiled by her parents as to refuse to attend her parent’s funeral because of an ‘important meeting’. ‘I hope you will accept my apology and gratitude,’ said Mary. ‘I did not know that you were in procession of such expensive jewellery. Please allow me to apologise for my past indifference. I shall come to your house on Saturday.’ ‘I am completely confused,’ Louisa replied. ‘What am I to do with you? I did not give you anything of high costs. What is the matter?’ ‘No, my dear Louisa, you need not pretend. I know you understand me perfectly, and will accept me as your guest. Take care. I’m afraid I must go now.’ Louisa was puzzled. Somehow, a sudden thought brought her to the drawers. Although she did not remember what had brought her there, she checked out all the drawers to see if there was anything missing. There was nothing special on the top drawer, nor the second, nor the third. But, when she reached the forth drawer, she noticed an empty space. Something had gone missing. Then she remembered it. It was the necklace Jay had given her before she bore her child in secret. The writer of the post-it note had robbed her. He had stolen her most valued treasure. It is past, she thought bitterly; past, dead, buried, and six feet below the ground. If only I had not met Jay… If only I had gone to the restaurant instead… If only I had never existed… I am of no value, with Jay, or without him. I… Louisa could not help but find herself drowned in the weird pattern of brainwork as she got herself seated on the edge of the sofa. The thoughts refused to let go of her, however hard Louisa endeavoured. They eventually ceased at the thought of Mary. Louisa blinked away a tear. She despised Mary. While others were in awe of Mary, Louisa, on the contrary, had a great abhorrence of her. In her opinion, her sister was pretentious, egocentric, and exceedingly pompous. Offhand and arrogant that she was, deep down inside she felt a love for her. Although Elizabeth I absolutely abominated her sister, Mary I, she gave her a decent funeral. She tried to stop her cousin, Mary, Queen of Scots, from execution, until her subjects betrayed her wishes. Louisa herself was reminded of the Queen of the Golden Age as she compared herself to her sister. She had a hidden love with Mary – a love that had remained inside her, never to be set to liberty – a love that she had never revealed, nor planned to be – a love that, although masked, its existence could not be denied. She loved Mary, and loathed her at the same time. It was a feeling whose power words have not to express; experience, you must have, to truly understand. She wished to control her feelings from doing harm internally, with little success, even after a quarter of an hour. It was then she thought of something whimsical, no, downright absurd. She knew it was crazy. Long ago, she had earlier been fed rumours of what were called conspiracy theories: that the SARS was untrue; that Elvis Presley was alive; that the Americans didn’t land on the moon… All sounded weird but, being presented enough evidence, both for and against, she could not be convinced on either side. What she thought of now was, of course, of smaller size, and deceived only her. She thought that, the writer of the post-it could be her sister. She could have robbed her of her jewellery, and made the phone call in order to conceal her guilt. She understood the greed of her sister, from the large collection of her negative qualities. Her mother had once given Mary and Louisa two bags of chocolates when Louisa was three and Mary twenty-seven. Mary ordered Louisa to give her Louisa’s share, and Louisa could not but obey. She wished to report this to her mother, but her mother adored only Mary, and in her mother’s eye, Louisa had little value. Her father was always at work, and never had time to talk to her. She always saw him no more than once a week. Louisa stamped her feet at the thought. She had the intense feeling to hurt herself for her own bad luck. She clenched her fists; her legs, however, were trembling as if they were in supreme coldness, and managed to stay in such a position until a sound woke her from the state. Tap. Tap. The impatient sound of the rain tapped on the windowpane, as if they were waiting for Louisa to perish from their sight. She quit her feeling of intensity, and reached over to the windows and closed them. The rain continued to disturb her. The rhythm of the rain sounded more and more bothersome to her; she decided complete her bedtime routine, and put aside her dinner. She walked quietly towards the kitchen, and put the food into the refrigerator. The broccoli had to wait. She switched off the kitchen lights and headed towards the washroom. Stripping herself of her clothes, she stepped into the shower. The tap was turned on, and Louisa started to criticise herself again. ‘I am enjoying what does not belong to me… This water is not mine… I have no right to use it…’ The cold water touched her skin, and goose bumps started to spring all over her. ‘Oh, how unwise I am…’ It was barely five minutes before she stepped out of the shower again. She dried herself with her towel and crawled into her pyjamas. She crawled to bed, only to be astonished by what she saw. There was another small post-it note on the edge of her bed. Whatever you do, it read, do NOT visit the bank. Before she was able to perceive the meaning of the note, she was interrupted by the cry of Benjamin. Her heart thumped in her chest. She had to rush to the kitchen to get her his milk. The bottle was immediately filled, and she presented it to her baby, who was in the living room. ‘Mamma,’ he said. Louisa quickly covered his mouth and put the index finger of her free hand in front of hers. ‘Do not worry mamma, and please keep quiet,’ she whispered to her baby. She then let go and forced the baby to drink the milk. The baby groaned and drank as was intended. Louisa, remembering the note, tiptoed briskly towards her room. She tore the post-it note off the wooden frame and read it. Whatever you do, do NOT visit the bank. She had been blissfully unaware of what the writer of the post-it intended to do! He had robbed her of her necklace, and now she robbed her bank account! However, she decided it was impossible that the stupidity of the writer was of such an extreme. How was it possible that the writer, however unwise, make it so obvious that he was robbing him? Was her initial hypothesis that the writer was trying to protect her correct? Was the writer trying to hide her necklace? Was it possible? But how did the dame receive it? Perhaps the writer really was her sister, and she retrieved the necklace, and pretended that she had received it from her, to avoid her from knowing that she was in danger? How could she be in danger in the first place? How was it possible that she was in danger when her life had been like this? Was it related to her child? Was Benjamin the true person in trouble? Had Mary discovered his existence? No-one but Louisa and Jay knew about his existence, and Jay had gone the way of all flesh. And even if Jay had informed Mary of Benjamin, how was it possible that Mary broke into her house and stole her jewellery? She was not in possession of any keys or means that would bring her in. It all sounded so illogical, so illogical…
Copyright © 2009 Abracadabra |